


in this way.

by brosdrake



Series: friends, benefits, and lots of feelings [2]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Sex, Just Friends, MY BABIES, Panic Attacks, Pining, cute lil dates, so much pining, they are so sweet in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-12-25 16:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18265385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brosdrake/pseuds/brosdrake
Summary: there were different ways they said "i love you" without actually saying it. they didn't even realize it was said to them.a spin-off to "just friends."





	1. how she loved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a spin-off to my fic "just friends."! reading that first will make this fic make a little more sense, so i highly recommend you read that first! 
> 
> this will be two parts, the first one being from our ol sammy's perspective. i hope you enjoy!

**i. “This is why.”**

She never liked doing mundane things alone, Sam knew that. On the other hand, she was awfully selective with who she spent quality time with. So, when she first asked him to run an errand with her around the two week mark of their… arrangement, he tried his best to not seem as excited as he truly was—or read too much into it.

They were buddies that were _very_ comfortable with each other, so of course she’d let him tag along, because they were just really, really close friends. Friends that shared a bed, a beautifully platonic and adventurous history, time with each other, and did he mention a bed? So this, was nothing. Not like a let's-run-errands-like-married-folk date or anything. Absolutely not.

Today was the grocery store, on a Sunday afternoon. He isn’t really fond of buildings packed in busy-ness and lots of people (reminded him too much of his time in prison), but today he didn’t mind experiencing it with her. They were gonna make dinner that night—pizza, specifically.

“I just need to grab whatever it is I need on this list, and go,” she said as they walked past the automatic sliding doors, the list shining brightly from her phone. She sounds like she’s telling herself that more than she’s telling him.

He laughs at her. This girl. “And I’m here to make sure you stick to that.”

So they go about the grocery store, finding pizza ingredients in their designated aisles, while Sam makes sure his shopping partner refrains from buying three bags of sour gummy worms.

“They’re so good!” she pouts. “And I go through them so fast!” she crosses her arms, as he sways her away from the candy aisle and into the vegetables section.

“It’s ain’t on the list, sweetheart, and you don’t put it on pizza.”

“Whatever.”

She rolls her eyes, and he laughs at her. He picks up a bag of romaine lettuce stacked next to them, making intense and exaggerated eye contact with her. “Just… romaine calm about it.”

She bursts out laughing, throwing her head back. “You’re too much, Drake.” She playfully hits him on the arm as they walk further, trying to find some tomatoes.

He finds fresh mint in the section next to them. He points to it, getting closer to her a little bit, lips near her ear. “Well, I think we’re _mint_ to be,” he whispers.

She snorts again, doing her little playful push on his arm. “This is why... this is why you’re special to me, Sam,” she chuckles, linking arms with him as they continue their quest for pizza ingredients.

He doesn’t suppress the flutters he feels in his chest when she says that.

**ii. “I just like watching you.”**

They had dinner together, almost every night. Some nights, where she’d have to stay a little longer for work, or he was out on a job, they wouldn’t be with each other. But most nights were a routine that included the both of them — tonight was one of them.

Tonight was stir fry, to be specific. She was reminiscing on an excavation trip she had in Thailand, talking about its beautiful culture and food. Talking a lot about the food. So, a trip to the supermarket and back home later, here they were, with him using her iPad to find a specific recipe as she chopped the vegetables.

“Sam,” she said his name from the kitchen. “It doesn’t matter, we already got stuff for it and you just kinda throw stuff in.”

“Can you at least _try_ to remember the name of that dish you had?” He was getting increasingly frustrated trying to find the specific dish she was craving, wanting to make sure this stir-fry experience was as close to the one she had in Thailand.

She laughs. “No, and either way, it wouldn’t be the same as it would be over there—”

“But it could be!” He walks over from the kitchen table to her, still scrolling on the iPad, focused. He feels her eyes on him.

He glances up, to find her staring intently at him. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she smiles. She says it sincerely. “I just like watching you. Especially when you’re so focused. It’s sweet.”

_I just like watching you._ She likes watching him. He shifts a little, hoping that she can’t see the flush he feels on his face.

This most definitely is not his first rodeo, and she is most definitely not the first woman that he had any sort of relation with. But anything she says makes him all the more interested, every time she touches him without any sexual intent makes him want more.

He’s unsure of what’s going on, but he isn’t entirely opposed to it.

**iii. “Thank you.”**

Sometimes she gets stressed out, and by stressed out, Sam means _really_ stressed out. It’s usually work-related, which is funny, because he has seen this woman accomplish some of the hardest things, seen her literally discover ancient treasure, get grazed by bullets and fight European mercenaries. However, she’s still human—a beautiful human that sweats the small shit and develops tendencies under stress.

Sometimes she’ll check out, sometimes she’ll ramble about nothing (although he believes she always has something meaningful to say when she isn’t trying to), sometimes she’ll just get emotional, ranting her stresses and using more colorful language than usual.

This evening is coming to be the latter.

They’re in her living room, and he’s on his phone, on Craigslist, looking for a local motorcycle for sale. She’s using her laptop, typing about. It’s one of those quiet nights, the ones where he comes to hang out while she works on whatever it is she needs to. They’re on her couch, which is the most comfortable couch in the world, and all one could hear was the tin can-like sounds of the rain on the roof.

“I’m not gonna get this done in time,” she sighs, sounding stressed and near-tearful. His head shoots up, met with the sight of her worry, and it makes him worry.

“It’s just so fucking much, and I need all this stuff by tomorrow at eight, and all I’ve been doing is fucking _working_ and it’s so goddamn annoying because I feel like I can’t catch a single break, and—” she’s going on, throwing her arms up to rub her eyes. Her breathing is heavy. “I don’t know how to go further with this.”

He gets closer to her on the couch, taking her computer from her lap and placing it on the coffee table. “Look at me,” he says. She looks at him. Her face is so pretty. “What’s the one thing you need to get done first that you need to do tonight?”

“Finishing up the rest of this document on this Etruscan tomb,” she mumbles. “But then—”

“No, don’t worry about the stuff that needs to get done _after_ tomorrow morning,” he shakes his head. “Just take it one at a time, dollface. Just finish the doc, worry about what’s next when you’re done.”

She nods, and takes his hand. “Okay, Sam.”

“Here, let’s take a deep breath. I’ll do it with you.” He holds her hand tighter. “Inhale for four seconds, hold it for seven, then breathe out for eight, okay?”

She nods. They do exactly that, inhale for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight. He can see the heaviness she was carrying in her face alleviate.

“Hey, stress can be okay,” he says. “It means you care about doing it, and doing it well. But sometimes it crushes you… just take it one thing at a time. I know it’s hard sometimes, but it helps. I’ve seen you accomplish way harder than this.”

She smiles at him. She leans forward, closer to him, gives him a kiss on the cheek, and rests her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Sam… you’re good at motivating me.”

He smiles, and she doesn’t see it. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“Uh, among other things,” he continues suggestively.

She lifts her head up, and laughs.

**iv. “I mean, I love it.”**

Sam loves video games. _Loves them._ He had a childhood where the joys of staying up late with friends and playing video games was robbed from him, and thus he eventually grew out of his desire to play them as he went closer into adulthood.

As he stepped forward into a “normal” life, a life that wasn’t the treasure-stealing, prison-staying, hell-raising life that he became familiar with, one of the things he quickly became accustomed to was his PlayStation 4. There were a multitude of reasons as to why he had loved it, one of the main reasons being that he felt like he could do anything he wanted to, and that they were fun.

He had played the first _Red Dead Redemption_ at his brother Nathan’s place, and became enthralled with living the life of a good-hearted cowboy. In a heartbeat, he purchased the sequel for his own console.

She didn’t mind that he had played video games when she was around, sometimes playing with him or watching him and making her own commentary. It was funny, and he loved her input, her perspective each time.

“You know,” she says. “Our lives could be a video game.”

He laughs, staring straight ahead at the screen and pressing his series of controls on the controller. “Yeah?”

“For sure! I mean, you and your brother are _literally_ Indiana Jones, and we’ve experienced things that, well, most people don’t experience. It would be so cool to just swing Nathan around on some cliffs or something.”

“I mean, I—shit!” he dies again. It’s a part in the game that seems all too good for him, seeing as he cannot get past it. “This fucking thing.”

She laughs at him. “You’re getting real fired up there, Drake.”

“You try doing it, I’ve been at this damn part for the past fucking five years.”

“Language, Drake.”

“Whatever.”

He can feel it, feel her finding it so funny. “It’s not funny!” he just wants to get past this chapter.

“It kinda is!” she exclaims. “I don’t know, I love you when you get frustrated—I mean, I love it. Like, it’s kinda hot.”

He tries to ignore the fact that he her say “I love you” in a sentence directed to him. He tries to, also ignore the part of him that got really excited at it. “Yeah?” he turns his head toward her. Her cheeks are a little red, and he wonders if it’s for the same reason he feels his face flush.

She shrugs. “I mean… Arthur Morgan’s also kinda hot.”

He rolls his eyes at her, scoffing. “Well, my _real_ last name is the same as his, if it makes you any more comfortable.” She giggles along, a sound that will never get old to him. He’s head over heels for her.

He hates that he’ll sometimes over-analyze every instance with her. Sometimes it’s with her actions, with her words. She didn’t mean the I love you part, he tries to tell himself, still stuck on that. She didn't mean it.

She didn’t mean it, right?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think about this one! the next part will be from our beautiful reader gal's perspective. thanks for reading! <3


	2. how he loved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crazy sorry for taking almost a month to update this second part! life's been wild, but thanks to those who have stuck with me. also want to note that these lists in these two parts are not set up in any chronological order. they're just precious recollections of their pining and their obvious ~love~ for each other. without further ado here is part two!

**i. “You’re funny and I like you.”**

In your mind, you called the times you and Sam would go out to do remotely anything outside of your home “dates”. Not that you two were dating, or had that intention, but it made anything you did together a little more fun. You wouldn’t tell him that, obviously, but it didn’t hurt to think of it like that. 

Today’s little date is the quest for tacos. Specifically, a highly reviewed taqueria on the other side of town. It’s late May and the sun is hazing on the skyline, a mix of yellows and pinks within the clouds. On evenings like this you two would normally take his motorcycle, rushing around the city—but your impromptu craving for tacos lead to you texting him of said craving, then you coming over to his apartment to pick him up, and now here you both are, in your car. 

He always drove though, and tonight is no different. It’s almost a funny sight, a man like Sam who often skirted the city in his motorcycle, rugged as ever in your little sedan, which, as he put it, always smelled “girly”. His right arm is resting on the center console, other hand drooped over the steering wheel. 

These drives are always fun, and you loved them most in the evening. Right now, pink skies contrast against the outline of his profile, the sun shining golden behind the clouds. He’s glowing—golden hour or not, he’s always glowing. 

Moments like these—where he is against the midsummer sun and everything is okay and beautiful—you can forget for a minute that he isn’t really yours. 

He flicks his eyes to you, catching your gaze. His smile is characteristically devillish. “See something you like?”

After years of shared traumas, history, and sexual experiences, he still manages to make you blush. You turn your head to the right, looking out the window as you two drove over the bridge. “I thought I saw something on your face, that’s all,” you lied. 

“Uh huh,” he chuckles. “You can just say you’re trying to flirt with me, sweetheart.” He puts his hand on your thigh, the new presence on your skin flush and warm. 

You try to not let it get to your head when he is intimate towards you outside of a sexual context. Sam is a flirt, he always has been. This is nothing. 

This is nothing. 

“Not flirting,” you remark. “I thought I saw something, that’s all.”

He chuckles again at you. You’re both stopped at a red light now, and he looks at you for a second before intertwining his hand with yours. “You’re funny.” 

You scoff a little. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He rubs his thumb back and forth against your hand. “You’re funny and I like you.”

**ii. “You’re okay.” (plus a forehead kiss)**

Even when you aren’t adventuring around the globe and reaching uncharted lands for treasure and artifacts, you still love your work. You love creating documents based off of your findings, getting the chance to collaborate with your other colleagues and planning your next expeditions. The field journeys are much more preferred than the office work (especially if it’s with the Drake brothers), but you love this too. After all, you have a doctorate in archaeology.

However, it seems that deadlines and the overpile of work is more stressful than fighting off European mercenaries (that’s when the preferred “field work” comes in). In seasons like this you can never seem to get a break or time for anything else. Or anyone else. 

Last night, though, Sam came over with takeout and a bottle of wine. “You need a break, lady,” he pointed out. You complied, never wanting to turn down the invitation to free food and wine. 

For at least a couple of hours you were able to step back away from your computer and your papers and spend time with Sam. It amazed you at how intentional he can be. Here he was, bringing exactly what you needed without you even telling him.

For the rest of the night you offered for him to spend the night, knowing that it was late and you wouldn’t mind the company. As he slept in your bed, you continued finish up the work you were meaning to for the night. 

It was beautifully mundane, you working as he slept next to you. It was as if you were a normal, real couple simply doing life together. 

_ Would that ever be a possibility? _ You asked yourself that, looking at him sleep so peacefully.  _ Would he want that, or am I just a great friend that happens to be attractive enough to do other things with?  _

You had shook your head, attempting to get your mind off of that and back to your work on your laptop. The answer to that question wouldn’t matter, because right now, it isn’t a possibility. You both didn’t want that, right?

Fast-forward to this morning, with you sleeping in and running late for work. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeat, as if you cussing yourself out would make the time stop. 

You did your makeup and dressed yourself, rushing yourself so much that you didn’t even realize Sam was making you breakfast the whole time. As you were getting your shoes on, he heads over to give you a tupperware of eggs, bacon, and sliced toast. 

As much as you were in a hurry, you felt yourself soften at his gentle domesticity. 

“Most important meal of the day, lady,” he points out. “You’re okay. You’re not even that late, and by the end of the day, this won’t matter.” 

You sigh. “Sam, I still have to prepare before my meeting with—” 

“Then go now and do that. You talking shit about yourself to yourself won’t take anything back or change anything.” He puts his hands on your shoulders and kisses your forehead. “You’re okay, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You’re thankful that your tardiness took up more of your headspace than his forehead kisses. 

**iii. “Stay.”**

A couple weeks after you and Sam had started sleeping with each other, you began to become more familiar with his presence—the things he liked, how he liked being touched, his unconscious habits. 

Often, when you were both finished (and he would  _ definitely  _ make sure you were  _ both _ finished) you would talk for a little bit, then one of you would leave or get up or something. There wasn’t an awful lot of the cuddling stuff, unless either of you would be spending the night. Even then, there wasn’t much cuddle time in the mornings anyways.

It had only been a few days after your “agreement”, though, so maybe it was bound to happen. You can’t recall if there is anything specific that you did, but the post-coital moments became longer and less uncomfortable.

Tonight is one of those moments.

You both are in a breathless state right now, after he had just finished inside you. He holds on tightly, repeating your name in whispered moans. He stays there for a minute before sliding himself out of you, still on top of you, still holding you tightly. 

You lift yourself up a little bit, rolling your bodies over so his the bed hits his back. Your head’s rested on his shoulder, and he looks down at you, giving you almost a breathless laugh. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” you say back to him. His body is incredibly warm, and you’re unsure of what to do with yourself. You try to get up a little. “I should go get dressed,” you begin.

“No, no, stay,” it almost sounds like a plead. He touches your arm, pulling you down gently. “Stay. Just for a little longer.” 

You look at him, his expression unreadable. You wonder if yours is just as unreadable. “Okay,” you nod, settling back down, turning your body so that your back is flush against his chest. “I’m staying.” 

It’s comforting. You’re comfortable, in this state. Here, with Sam Drake. You wonder if it is always going to be like this. A little routine of hanging out and sleeping with each other. You even go so far to wonder if it may evolve into more—not that you wanted it to. 

The whole reason why you have a specific arrangement instead of a relationship comes from the fact that you both didn’t want the boyfriend-girlfriend stuff.

You can’t deny, though, how right it feels for his arms to be wrapped around your body, clutching around you and his chest against you. You’re molded to his figure so perfectly.

There are things that are set up in certain ways. Ways that feel uncannily correct. You wonder if it’ll stay this way. A small part of you hopes it does.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> & that's a wrap for "in this way."! thanks for reading this little spinoff to my baby "just friends". i'm planning on expanding upon this universe with my sam drake/reader fics. as in, i'll be basing my reader and their background from my pic "just friends" and this fic. but i am merely planning, so it is not for sure :)
> 
> again, thank you all for reading and for your comments. i respond to each and every one of them and reading them all really gets me going and excited and hopeful. my tumblr username is kavodrepeat if any of you would like to be friends or reach out or anything.
> 
> anyways, love yourself and make sure your friends are ok. til next fic! <3


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